On my table there is a form from the Alma Mater Clinic. In one sheet of paper it states in simple clear terms that my signature on it indicates that I agree to allowing Alma Mater Clinic thaw and discard two vials of man-in-the-can.

And it has to be notarized.

I looked at Mikey. We spoke about this. I have a new job. I have 25lbs that I didn’t have before. I am studying to be a deacon. I am working on an AA convention. I don’t have any acrued time. We’re in couple’s therapy. In short, we don’t have the emotional energy for another attempt. I am accepting the fact that my body is not capable of producing the eggs and still find a way to love myself. And it costs about 1k a year to keep storing. Once upon a time I spent thousands to get pregnant and didn’t think twice about it. Now I think 1K and I think debt reduction or down payment.

Ok that’s the brain. Right now I’m holding back the tidal wave. The minute I sign this form this is my first concrete action that ends my TTC journey. The end of a hope and desire that was so primal I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe for four years. I choose to stop hitting my head against a wall that should never have been there.

And I have to get it notarized.

I know the notary won’t even care but still having a notary look at this form and put their seal on it feels something like having a scarlet letter “I” pinned on my chest.

Please please tell me there is an infertile notary somewhere in this city. I can’t bear the thought of having a meltdown at my local bank. Mikey suggested looking for a notary at work. I gave her the hairy eyeball until she realized the badness of that suggestion. I have a notary friend who is throwing a party Friday but I think bringing this form to a party that I want to enjoy (I mean it’s a pimps and hos theme, how cool is that?) would not be smart.

Why must it be notarized?